


Never Were There Such Devoted Sisters

by FrankiValerie



Series: Lylathrel (WoW ship) [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Death Knight, F/F, Fluff, Legion - Freeform, Lesbian, Paladin, Reunions, Shadow Priest, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8442325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankiValerie/pseuds/FrankiValerie
Summary: I realise from the tags this looks like a taboo sister love fic but its not that... Since Returning Home got 100 hits, I decided to post this little fluffy-ish thing i started working on not long after writing that.  Keen to hear people's thoughts. :)There's mention of a young Lor'themar and he's really only used because I imagine Lyla/Ilth/Zyda being a similar age, and because they're familiar names for y'all. Just for humor really!





	

“I saw Zyda today.” Ilthrel began, speaking slowly as she was aware that the subject of her sister was a sore one for Lylawe – though it wouldn’t stop her bringing it up, “We didn’t speak but she looks good.  I hear she’s a High Priest now.” 

Lylawe stood up straight and frowned over her shoulder, giving Ellie _that look_.  Ellie gave as good as she got, her gentle demeanor falling, “Are you even going to tell her you’re alive?!” 

“No.” the Death Knight spat back, “Because I’m not.” She returned to the anvil she worked at, once again repairing and improving the broken and re-forged axe she’d held onto for sentiment all these years. 

Ilthrel sported a pout and folded her arms, moving around the anvil to interrupt her work again, “You told me that you were hollow with regret for not being around for me and your sister.  You’re walking and talking and to me, that spells ALIVE!” 

“You know what she’s like, Ellie,” whined Lylawe, rolling her shoulders, "I remember that look on her face, like I'd broken a promise.  She won't be happy to see me.  She’s always been so focused, anyway, on her _priesting_.  The light would have soothed her grief years ago, as it did for you.” 

Ellie frowned a moment, confused, then her expression softened in realisation.  Of course, Zyda was still an acolyte when Lylawe and their parents left.  She wouldn’t know.  

“… Zyda turned her back on the Light when you left.” She finally said.  It stopped Lylawe from hammering her axe again, and brought her blue eyes back to Ilthrel.  She continued, “She was broken.  She said the light no longer spoke to her.  She darkened and began to hear the voids whispers.  She’s dedicated her life to the shadow, Lyla.  The shadow priests draw their power from the void.  They cannot commune with the Light.  Most of them now spend their whole lives cloaked in the shadows, listening to the void’s whispers.  She's still focused to the cause, as much as she can be... but she's not the sister you left behind."

* * *

"Back, filthy trolls! Or taste the fierce steel of my blade!" Young Lylawe swung her toy wooden sword over her shoulder, pointing it toward a slightly cowering Lor'themar Theron.  

"Your voodoo is no match for the power of the Sunwell!" Zyda jabbed Halduron Brightwing in the gut with the long stick she'd picked up to use as a staff.  

"Why are we always the trolls?" Lor'themar moaned, flinching as Lylawe brought her sword to his chin, "Watch the face, Dawnsong!" 

"Because you smell like trolls!" laughed Zyda, eyeing Lor'themar but still kept her fierce focus on Halduron.  

"And how come we don't get weapons? Trolls at least have spears!" Halduron protested. 

Lylawe frowned and looked to the ground - she then grabbed up a couple twigs and handed them to the boys, "There! These can be your spears."

"Now burn in holy fire!" Zyda yelled, holding her twig-staff above her head and holding a dramatic pose.

The other three looked between her and each other.  She eventually heaved a sigh and dropped the twig, looking frustrated, "You're _supposed_  to act like you're burning..."

"This is no fun." Halduron said, dropping his twig-spear and turning to leave with shoulders hunched, "C'mon, Lor'themar, let's go play with the Windrunners."

Lor'themar also dropped his spear and followed, "Yeah, they're way more fun."

Lylawe watched them run away across the grass and turn down the path that lead to Windrunner Spire.  She sighed and looked at her wooden sword, then at her sister, who was watching her carefully.  

"You don't really care what they think do you?" she finally asked, smiling, "They're just smelly troll boys!" 

Lylawe shook her head but she felt tears sting her eyes and sat on the grass, studying the wooden grain of her sword.  Zyda knelt by her and hugged her sister, demonstrating her unmatched kindness, "Don't worry about what they think, Lyla.  The only thing that matters is that we're friends.  And nothing will ever change that."

* * *

 

High Priest Zyda Dawnsong lit another candle and placed it amongst the others, mouthing a silent prayer to the void.  To her side Gilner Greymoss still rambled about maddening whispers, impending darkness and doom.  Zyda pitied the Gnome’s fragile mind.  The blade artifact at her hip offered a short cackle in contribution.  The Gnome must also have heard the laughter because he flinched away from Zyda and whimpered, making her smirk. 

She turned from the candles and pulled a vial from the foot of the alter before her, sweeping it into the liquid within and corking the vial for use on the field.  She then swept out into the main body of the temple and admired her work; hundreds of priests working together in their own campaigns to drive out the Burning Legion.  The song from the Naaru floating across the way filled the hall and gave hope to those within.  

“High Priest, we have some things to discuss.” Called Alonsus Foal from the middle of the chamber.  She nodded and walked over, eyeing the documents in his hands, “We have had word from Suramar and--” 

“I will handle it myself, I am heading back to Shal’aran,” she took the brief from his hand and neatly folded it before storing it with the vial in her pack, “Is there anything else?” 

Alnosus shook his head slowly, bowed his head in respect and Zyda took off for the portal back to Dalaran.  A young acolyte was running toward her with an outstretched arm and letter in his hand, “High Priest,” he stopped before her and bowed respectfully, “An urgent message for you from Lady Brightblade.” 

Zyda took the letter and stepped around the acolyte, “Brightblade…” she recalled the name.  She tucked the letter into her pack, next to the documents from Alonsus, and then stepped through the portal.  Whatever her dead sister’s ex-girlfriend had to say, there were more urgent matters at hand.

* * *

 

The human acolyte messenger returned to Dalaran not long after the High Priest and found the blood elf Paladin Aspirant from Light’s Hope who had handed him Lady Brightwing’s message looking impatient and frustrated.  He rolled his eyes upon seeing the acolyte and held out a hand.  The acolyte looked at the outstretched hand and raised a brow.  

“The reply?” the Aspirant asked in a derogatory tone.  

“She gave no reply.” 

“What do you mean ‘she gave no reply’?  I told you the message was vitally important, and to mention Lady Brightblade’s name!” 

The acolyte frowned, “I mentioned your Lady’s name as was requested, and stated the message was urgent.  The High Priest repeated your Lady’s name, and left the temple.  She did not read the document.” 

“She didn’t read it?” The Aspirant straightened up to his full height, still not much taller than the acolyte, his overly long eyebrows pointed down in clearly exaggerated anger.  A delicate, gloved hand rested on his shoulder and he froze. 

“That’s enough, Winlus.  I hadn’t expected the High Priest to respond immediately.  Thank you both for helping me with this rather personal matter.  I will be putting in a good word with your superiors.” 

The aspirant now bowed low to the blood elf female in the silvery robes, “It has been a pleasure to serve you, Lady Brightblade.”

The Acolyte put his hands together and bowed for the Lady as well. 

“Do you know where the High Priest is headed?” she asked the acolyte.  Her face was firm but her voice soft.  

“Shal’aran, my Lady.  She has business with the Nightfallen in refuge.  

The Lady nodded solemnly, “This matter takes no precedence over the aid of refugees.  Thank you, again, for all your help.”


End file.
